'I was jailed for filming a police
assault'
2016-01-08
09:52
Eduard Grebe, Groundup
A Cape Town man recounts his experience at the hands of police
officers who detained him for filming an arrest, reports GroundUp.
Cape Town - Late on Sunday, January 3, I happened upon an arrest
taking place in a street close to my home in Observatory.
The arrestee was pinned to the asphalt by two officers who were
trying to cuff his hands behind his back, but he appeared to be offering some
resistance.
As I watched, they attempted to force him to comply by punching
him in the face and pulling his hair. He was crying out "Please, you're
hurting me! I haven't done anything!" When I saw that one of the policemen
was choking him with his hand, I decided that I needed to intervene. I could
hear that the man was unable to breathe for long periods and he would gasp for
breath when the policeman released his grip.
me what I was doing and I answered that I was filming them and
that if they were acting within the law they should have no objection. Soon
they had restrained the man, whose name I would later learn is Joseph, and
turned their attention to me.
Constable Yoko tried to take the phone from my hand but I pulled
it away and told him he had no right to take my phone. He told me that I was
not allowed to take photographs of the police and that I should delete the
recording in front of him so that he would know that it had been deleted. I
refused. He then instructed me to get in the back of the police van. He refused
to answer my repeated questions about whether I'm under arrest and of which
crime I'm suspected. Without answering, they bundled me in next to Joseph and
drove off, on several occasions braking hard and turning sharply in what
appeared to be deliberate attempts to hurt the two of us in the back.
Inexplicably, my phone was not taken from me until we arrived at
Woodstock police station, so I managed to let my friend Wilmien Wicomb, an
attorney at the Legal Resources Centre, know of my predicament and send her a
copy of the video. I was processed like an ordinary arrestee, my possessions
carefully logged and placed in brown envelopes (but my phone logged separately,
with no receipt issued). Constable Yoko again tried to persuade me to delete
the video, offering to store my phone with the rest of my belongings so that I
could receive it when I’m released if I complied. I was made to sign a
"notice of rights in terms of the constitution”. My insistence on reading
it first was met by bemused looks. Throughout this process, I repeatedly stated
that my arrest and detention was unlawful, which met with the reply that it was
lawful because I “had interfered with an arrest”.
In the meantime Wilmien had phoned the station and spoke to a
senior officer. She also managed to call Constable Yoko directly. She told them
that she had evidence that my arrest was unlawful and that they should release
me immediately. The only apparent effect of this was that a senior officer —
introduced to me by Constable Yoko as “my commander”, and presumably the one
Wilmien spoke to — came to berate me for having filmed the police officers
instead of “helping them” and told me that “you are not a member of that
community [in Observatory].” When I repeated to him that my arrest and
detention was unlawful because I had committed no crime, nor am I reasonably suspected
of having committed one, he replied with glee that I was welcome to lay a
charge of unlawful arrest. It was clear that the law inspired no fear or
respect.
After having my possessions logged and stored, and being searched,
I was taken to a cell and the door was locked behind me. Only Joseph was in the
cell. The stench of excrement emanated from the open toilet, which after a
small struggle I managed to flush. I was grateful to discover an inset basin in
the wall with a tap that worked (although it spilt water across the floor when
used). Since I had no soap and my hands were filthy I stuck my head into the
basin to drink directly from the tap.
I settled down and re-read my “notice of rights”. I laughed when I
saw they had written down “riotous behaviour” as the reason for my detention.
The irony of handing a detainee a notice of his constitutional rights while
knowingly holding him unlawfully — after openly trying to intimidate him into
destroying the evidence of your own unlawful behaviour — was apparently lost on
the police officers. The cell provided basic shelter, but made a mockery of the
right, proclaimed in the notice, to be detained “under conditions consistent
with human dignity, which shall include at least the provision of adequate
accommodation, nutrition, reading material and medical treatment at state
expense.” When I had mentioned that I am supposed to take medication in the
evening, Constable Yoko had dismissively told me that “it’s one night, you
won’t die”, without enquiring about the nature of the medication or condition.
Later in the night additional detainees were crammed into the cell, resulting
in eight people sharing a cell clearly marked with a sign stating “MAX 4
PERSONS”.
My fellow detainees and I discussed why we were arrested and
studied each other’s notices of constitutional rights. The officers had told
Joseph that he was being arrested for possession of drugs. But the only
reasons I saw written for why people in my cell were arrested were “riotous
behaviour” and “public nuisance”. One man asked me if I could explain to him
what a public nuisance is. I tried.
There were three mattresses and perhaps six blankets to go round.
The blankets reeked of urine and body odour, but I was grateful to have one.
There was not enough floor space for all of us to lie down, but some were even
able to sleep on the hard floor. My companions seemed resigned to their fate
and reasonably comfortable. I reflected on how luxurious my daily life probably
was compared to those of my cellmates. Also that my burning sense of injustice
and anger reflected my privileged position, in which being treated unjustly was
unusual. I felt fearful — the arbitrary power of the police officers detaining
us, and their lack of scruples, was by now abundantly clear and left me worried
about what might happen.
The next morning we were called out of our cells and served a tiny
polystyrene bowl of maize porridge and a boiled egg. We ate standing up and
were put back in the cell. A short while later we were told that we were due in
Court and escorted to a prisoner transport vehicle. We drove to what I thought
was Cape Town Magistrate’s Court, and I felt hopeful that soon I would leave
this lawless twilight zone and become a citizen with rights and recourse once
more. But after waiting for perhaps half an hour in a narrow alley (perhaps
behind the Court), during which time the cramped and poorly-ventilated space we
were in became unbearably hot, we drove off again and parked outside the
Community Court, a short distance away. It was here that I witnessed a second,
and more shocking, instance of police brutality.
Three of the detainees in the section of the truck that I was in
attacked another detainee who had R3 000 in cash in his possession. Presumably
he had had this money on him during his arrest, but why it was returned to him
before the transport to Court I do not know. In retrospect it seems an
irresponsible thing to do. He was pinned down and one of his attackers held his
throat in an arm clench while his money was taken out of his trousers. Police
officers that I had not seen before — I do not know whether they had travelled
with us or were stationed at the Court — opened the door and broke up the
melee.
The victim explained that his money had been taken from him and a
Constable Khoza started interrogating those closest to the victim — slapping
and punching them while asking where the money was. He strip-searched detainees
one by one, and finally discovered the bulk of the cash in the trousers of one
detainee. He then proceeded to viciously attack this man. He held on to the low
ceiling to steady himself and kicked the detainee with as much force as he
could.
He kicked him many times, on the arms and legs, on the chest and
abdomen, with his heavy police boots. The man was screaming in pain and started
sobbing loudly, crying for his mother. Constable Khoza did not stop, instead
the man’s wails seemed to inspire him to put greater and greater effort into
his kicks. He stomped on the man’s genitals in a moment of particular cruelty.
The assault lasted for what felt like many minutes. I sat there
watching, white with fear and nauseous with disgust. I did nothing. In a few
short hours the police had taught me to put my principles aside and keep my
head down while the powerful brutalised the weak.
Eventually we were led into the Community Court building, placed
in a makeshift cell and told to wait. Constable Khoza’s victim lay on the floor
groaning and complaining of the pain in his ribs and groin. An hour or two
later we were led out of the cell. We were called one by one to be told that
the charges against us had been withdrawn. We had our thumbprints taken and
were released. I was left badly shaken. But it was my confidence in the rule of
law that had been shaken most.
GroundUp sent a draft of Eduard Grebe's article to Minister of
Police Nkosinathi Nhleko, National Commissioner Khomotso Phahlane, Lieutenant
Colonel Andrè Traut of SAPS Western Cape and Western Cape MEC for Community
Safety Dan Plato.
Read more…..
http://www.news24.com/SouthAfrica/News/i-was-jailed-for-filming-a-police-assault-journalist-20160108
